Charla Noxon

I killed him. He didn’t
like that I wouldn’t
choose him, preferring a
boy who didn’t have
his money. So he hit
me, and I shot him
dead. But his daddy paid,
so his friends in the
media lied and said
it was an tragic
accident. The money
that must’ve changed hands.

I escaped home to Spoon
River and hid. But
they never came for me.
And Spoon River was
just the same. The rich and
powerful made the
insignificant and
poor simply vanish.

And then I got sick. So
I went back to the
city, and turned myself
in. My short time left
was worth spending to watch
them wriggle in the light.